


Without

by Swirlyer



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Banter, Building Collapse, M/M, VERY sad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swirlyer/pseuds/Swirlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh god, stop worrying. I'm fine," Grantaire sighs, as if Enjolras is being unreasonable. "Worse comes to worse, I lose my left arm, but I get a step closer to my all time dream of becoming a starfish."</p><p>"That's not funny," Enjolras snaps, pursing his lips. "People with disabilities – "</p><p>"Can you spare me the moralities of my humor for like, two seconds? I'm trying to cope here."</p><p>Or, alternatively, Enjolras and Grantaire get stuck in the rubble of a collapsed building.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without

Enjolras really doesn't know how it happens.

One moment, he's arguing with Grantaire. He can't even remember what they were arguing about – the social construction of reality, maybe – and then suddenly there's a crash, and his lungs hurt and his head feels like it's splitting itself in half, and God, are those people screaming?

The next time he opens his eyes, he's shocked by the ache in his lungs, and he's giving painful, wheezing coughs. He lets out a small groan, hand moving to clutch his head as his eyes open. It's dark, and when he tries to sit up he has a momentary lapse of panic and claustrophobia because he _can't._

His breathing speeds up, and he's confused and disoriented and –

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Says a voice, says _Grantaire_ , and he instantly falls back onto the concrete beneath him as his heart calms down. Later, if anyone asked how he calmed down, he would willfully deny any facts that it was Grantaire's voice that did so.

Enjolras whips his head to Grantaire's direction, eyes straining in the darkness. He can barely make out a silhouette, but Grantaire's lying a couple of feet away, breathing shallowly. "What happened?" He rasps out, hoping Grantaire's more on top of the situation than he is.

"Building collapsed, pretty sure something happened with that construction outside. Ironic, right?" Grantaire's voice is wry, and his joke is as infuriating as it is relieving to hear.

"Are you alright?" Enjolras asks immediately, trying to army crawl towards Grantaire, but his arm gives out, and that's when Enjolras realizes it's broken somehow. He doesn't have the courage to look, but the pain is sudden and abrupt and he closes his eyes against it.

"Uh. Hey, good news is that it's my left arm, right?" Grantaire laughs, voice a little strained. When Enjolras cranes his head up to look, he can see that Grantaire's arm is swallowed by murky darkness. With a pang, he realizes that murky darkness is a large piece of concrete. "What about you?"

He can't see much else about Grantaire, but he's breathing and joking and that's good enough for him. Enjolras settles down, still clutching his head with his good hand. "My arm is broken. I think I might have a concussion, so don't let me fall asleep."

"Why, Enjolras, how else will you get your beauty rest?" Grantaire says, scandalized.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, trying to find a comfortable position to lay in while they wait for help. He tries not to think about Grantaire's arm under that rubble, and how limited his options are. "If your definition of beauty rest is a coma, then I suppose I'm in luck."

"Who needs luck when you've got four tons of concrete on your arm?" Grantaire snorts, shifting a bit and letting out a whimper. Enjolras' heart sinks at the sound, knowing Grantaire must be in a lot of pain.

"It shouldn't be too long until they find us," Enjolras finds himself saying, comforting. "I don't imagine we're very deep in it."

"You know, they can take all the time they want," Grantaire laughs shakily.

Enjolras doesn't understand, but he doesn't press. It doesn't sound like shock, so he decides to just leave it. More than a little shaky, Enjolras knows he would normally be jittery or too wired to even rest his head down, but he's tired and scared and he just wants to go to bed.

Just as he's about to close his eyes, Grantaire lets out a shrieking whistle and begins the first notes to "Cotton Eye Joe". It startles Enjolras enough so that he's shaking awake, and he momentarily reprimands himself for even letting himself settle.

He doesn't know if he should thank Grantaire for that or be annoyed at his method for keeping Enjolras awake. Grantaire is still whistling. "Can you stop now?" Enjolras snaps, annoyed. "I'm not asleep."

"Really? And here I was trying to whistle you a lullaby," Grantaire sighs, as if he were wounded somehow. Well, Enjolras supposes, he is. "Just let the calming, melodic tunes of Cotton Eye Joe – "

Enjolras shudders. "Are you capable of not being obnoxious for two seconds?"

"Hey, I resent that. I'll have you know that I was the all time champion of the quiet game in third grade."

"I'm sure everyone was devastated," Enjolras snipes.

"Wow, okay, rude," Grantaire says, and Enjolras feels momentarily guilty. Grantaire's was just trying to keep him awake. But then Grantaire is speaking again, sarcastic once more. "My heart is breaking, and not just because of the Crush Syndrome."

"If it was Crush Syndrome, it would be your kidneys, not your heart," Enjolras points out. Perhaps he was spending too much time around Combeferre. But he almost wishes Grantaire hadn't brought it up – now he was all too aware of the fact that the dark haired man was really in danger.

"Oh god, stop worrying. I'm fine," Grantaire sighs, as if Enjolras is being unreasonable. "Worse comes to worse, I lose my left arm, but I get a step closer to my all time dream of becoming a starfish."

"That's not funny," Enjolras snaps, pursing his lips. "People with disabilities – "

"Can you spare me the moralities of my humor for like, two seconds? I'm trying to cope here."

Oh. Enjolras wishes he could slap a hand to his forehead, but a) there isn't enough room, and b) the arm that could have room to do that is broken. Instead, Enjolras closes his eyes. "I'm sorry – I didn't realize how it must be to be in your situation."

He'd only been thinking of the physical part of Grantaire's situation, like the pain or the Crush Syndrome. But the mental toll? Well, it hadn't exactly occurred to him.

"Dude, relax. I haven't started sobbing and going into hysterics yet. I think I'm passed the danger zone for that."

It's silent after that, mostly because Enjolras doesn't know what to say.

It's subtle, but sudden and jarring. There's a bark somewhere distantly, but distinctly close enough, and Enjolras is sighing in relief. Finally.

They would probably need to use special equipment to get to them, because there were no openings, but Enjolras was relieved. They were fine, Grantaire was going to be fine.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire says, sounding strangled.

"Yeah, I know," Enjolras smiles a bit. "I can hear them too."

"No, it's," Grantaire begins, pausing and sounding shaky. A part of Enjolras drops at hearing that tone in Grantaire's voice. "It isn't just my arm."

Everything goes still. Enjolras' eyes widen, and every part of him desperately wants to tell Grantaire to stop joking, to stop lying, but – even the dark haired man had limits on his jokes.

"How much?" Enjolras asks, his voice barely a thin whisper.

When Grantaire speaks, reality seems to cave in on itself. Nothing feels real.

"My entire lower body. Some of my abdomen," Grantaire replies.

It's cold. The rubble underneath of Enjolras suddenly feels like ice, and a piercing pain goes through his heart as he processes Grantaire's words. Grantaire wasn't alright. They were going to lift the rubble, the only way to get to them, and Grantaire would bleed out.

Enjolras is crying. "You knew, didn't you? This entire time."

"I didn't want to die with you crying, come on. That's the worst way to die."

"You're going to be alright, Grantaire. We've got a meeting tomorrow, you can't – " Enjolras cuts himself off, his voice breaking. "Who's going to argue with me?"

"Enjolras – "

"I'll be so mad at you, you know, at the meeting. You'll – you'll be in the back, drinking and making comments, and I'll be mad at you. And you'll laugh when my face turns red at one of your more lewd ones. And then you'll wink and drink some more and – you'll be okay – "

"Enjolras," Grantaire repeats, voice soft. Together, they can both hear the shouted voices above them.

"You'll be alright – "

It's all a blur after that. Time seems to stop and move forwards in a disorienting pattern, and a part of Enjolras barely comprehends as the rubble is lifted away, jarring the rubble that was crushing Grantaire.

Later, when he's the last one at Grantaire's funeral, he remembers a hand pushing him away just before the building crumbled.

 

**Author's Note:**

> wow, sorry for this? I just had this need to write some serious angst, and, well. Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated, thank you!


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